


I’ll be there to watch the fire (burn us both alive)

by Aisfor



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - British, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Best Friends, Covert Operation, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Organized Crime, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-13 14:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16019843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisfor/pseuds/Aisfor
Summary: He leads her down a hallway, turns left and stops at a wooden door with a pane of glass obscured by blinds. He knocks twice, then steps away. Her shoes squeak on the floor causing a faint snort of amusement from Jughead. Betty’s nose twitches in annoyance as he looks down.“Just so you know I’m kind of the best Detective around here.” His laughter lines are gone, replaced by hardness that only means business.Betty squares up to him as the door opens, all her previous nervousness dissipating instantly. “You were.” She smiles, knowingly. Then disappears behind the door, leaving Jughead laughing manically.---------------------------------------------Or Betty and Jughead are Detectives and they're trying to survive.





	1. All my dreams, my dear, they are of you

**Author's Note:**

> I have resurfaced from my cave of academia and writer's block to bring a new story for you all! The break was a lot longer than planned and this first chapter has taken about three months to get right. I'm still not sure it is right but I'm sick of looking at it, so I'm putting it out there! I hope you enjoy!

_It’s a foggy morning, the day Betty starts her new job. The wind rattles the single glazed windows threatening to break free from the rotting wood. Her heart thuds loudly against her ribcage. She pulls her pale cardigan tighter around her shoulders, eyes flicking around the mostly empty office space. She lands on a dark-haired man with a lean frame, whose own eyes are squinting at a computer screen precariously balanced on top a timeworn desk._

 

_Betty sucks in a breath, exhaling sharply through her nose before making her way across the linoleum floor. Her patent brogues make a sharp squeak on every footfall. She regrets buying them. The man looks up at the sound. She gives a hesitant closed mouth smile as she rounds his desk, sticking out a cold hand._

 

 _“Hello, I’m new.”  He leans back in his chair. His warmer, larger hand finding hers in a quick shake. “The new DC,” She clarifies, “I’m supposed to be meeting with the DI for my induction?” Her voice peaks in question, hands now smoothing the cotton of her cardigan._ _The corner of his mouth quirks, giving him laughter lines. It makes him seem softer, Betty notices. She prefers that._

 

_“Well, hello New.” He tents his fingers, “I’m DC Jughead Jones, it’s very nice to meet you.”_

_Her smile is less hesitant this time. “That’s an awful joke. I’m Betty Cooper”_

_Jughead shrugs. “Well Cooper, if you don’t like shit jokes, you can’t work here. That’s a fact.” She stares at him, forehead creasing._ _He huffs a sigh at that, chair wheezing as he stands. He’s a good head taller than her and smells faintly of aftershave, in the best way. “Alright, you’ve worn me down. I’ll take you to the boss.”_

_He leads her down a hallway, turns left and stops at a wooden door with a pane of glass obscured by blinds. He knocks twice, then steps away. Her shoes squeak on the floor causing a faint snort of amusement from Jughead. Betty’s nose twitches in annoyance as he looks down._

_“Just so you know I’m kind of the best Detective around here.” His laughter lines are gone, replaced by hardness that only means business._

_Betty squares up to him as the door opens, all her previous nervousness dissipating instantly. “You were.” She smiles, knowingly. Then disappears behind the door, leaving Jughead laughing manically._

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Betty shuffles her beaten leather bag from the crook of her elbow, it thuds heavily onto the desk in front, the metal creaking from the weight. She drops into her designated office chair. The wonky wheel whines. She winces at the sound, leaning forward to fire up her computer. She’s been meaning to swap her chair with someone else, when they’re not around of course. She’s nothing if not discreet. She’s considering who has the best of a bad bunch, when she hears, “Cooper.”

 

A statement not a question, she notices.

 

Betty swivels and outwardly groans at the sight. She was really hoping for a morning without his particular brand of irritation. “Jones.”

 

Jughead stood by the hallway leading to their superior’s door, long legs crossed at the ankle. Her arms fold over her chest, cautiously. His lips curl around his teeth, “Boss wants to see us.” He disappears down the hall. She sighs, following his path, her shoes clipping to the pattern of her short gait.

 

Their superior, a balding DI with eyebrows that could have their own postcode is watching her, twiddling a penknife that usually resides in the dartboard behind his desk. Betty nods, “Boss?” She glances between the knife and Jughead, who’s stood by a cracked window that shows nothing but the car park.

 

Her boss clears his throat, neck wobbling in a way that reminds her of jelly. “Take a seat, Cooper.” The chair legs sound rough against the dank carpet as she pulls it back, smoothing down her blouse as she sits.

 

The knife twirls between his oversized fingers.

 

“As you know, we’ve been building a case against that gaggle of stupid fucks for some months now,” He points his knife at the dartboard, decorated with various mugshots of notorious gang members, they’d been pursuing for just under a year. She nods. He continues, chair tilting as he shifts forward, “Uniform picked up one of the cretins, in a routine stop and search. Managed to twist their arm and…well, the little shit has provided some of the necessary intel that means we can now place a mole within their organisation. Put the cat among the pigeons, as it were.”

 

Betty suspects it wasn’t quite as easy as he’s suggesting, but she remains silent. Her boss stabs the penknife into his desk and continues, “and you, Cooper, are going to be the cat’s handler.” The possibility of a covert operation sets her pulse racing.

 

She purses her lips and asks, “How do we know we can trust the cat and the pigeon?” Truthfully, she feels stupid continuing to use the idiom. But playing along will please her boss immeasurably.

 

Her boss peers at her from under his eyebrows, almost smiling. “We can trust them.” Jughead smirks in the way that means he thinks he has one up on her.

 

She should have known, he’s never quiet for that long. “You’re the cat.” She cringes inwardly.

 

Jughead barks a laugh. “Oh, yes.”

 

Betty’s head tilts back towards the older man, pleadingly. “Boss, but…”

 

He holds up a thick wrinkled finger in her direction. “This is how it’s going to be, Cooper. So get used to the idea.”

 

“But why does he get to infiltrate the gang?” She replies, arms raising exacerbated. She realises she probably sounds very much like a petty child, but she can’t stop the words leaving her mouth.

 

Her boss winces at her tone. “Because he asked nicely.”

 

Betty exhales, looking to Jughead who’s grinning like he just won the lottery. The older man reaches into his desk drawer producing a newspaper and two burner phones. He throws the phones in Betty’s direction. “Don’t turn them on until you need to set the first meet,” Betty nods as he begins to unfold the newspaper “Now, get out the both of you. I want to pick my bets.”

 

Their boss loves to bet on the horses.

 

As they exit, Jughead leans down to whisper, “You better not take my chair while I’m gone.”

 

She grunts in reply, shouldering him roughly away for good measure. She’s definitely having his chair.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Betty’s eyes reel over the falsified police document on her computer screen, concentration knitting her eyebrows together. Creating a record for him was necessary, to allow him to blend in and prevent suspicion. For Jughead Jones to no longer exist, never have existed. The idea of that makes her skin crawl.

 

She reaches back to scratch the invisible itch. Jughead leans against the filing cabinet, watching her scroll. “I think when this is over, I really will change my name to Frank.”

 

She tuts, but glad of the interruption to her own thoughts.  “You sound like an old aged pensioner,” she finds another detail on screen and scoffs, “You’re definitely not 6”2.”

 

He makes a hurt noise in the back of his throat. “I definitely am.” Betty twists in her chair, sceptical expression on her face.

 

Jughead shrugs, eyes crinkling in a way that reminds her of their first meeting. “Ok, you got me. 6”1 and a half”

 

She lets out a breathy laugh, already backspacing on her keyboard. “You’ll have to get yourself a pair of platform boots if you want them to believe that lie.”

 

He moves from the cabinet, squeezing her shoulder as he walks away. “If they’re good enough for RDJ, they’re good enough for me.”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

The next day he’s gone. The risks of the operation ringing truer in the light of day. She’d spent the evening before convincing herself it would be a relaxing change to not have him with her at every moment of the day. But instead it makes her feel tense. Like an arrow poised on the string of a bow ready to be shot sky high.

 

She sits at his desk, for the seat. That’s what she tells herself. Not for the spare flannel shirt he keeps in his top drawer, soft to touch. Not for the picture of his younger sister on top of his shoulders, in pride of place. She can’t deny the way a man who she’s spent the better part of her 20’s with, despite all his irritating qualities, has become a part of her.

 

Because for all the competitiveness, sarcastic comments and everything in between they’re still best friends. They’re partners and they need each other.

 

This has to work.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

_Her first case at the department is also the start of her partnership with Jughead. Neither realising at the time how good a partnership it would turn out to be._

_It’s the murder of a middle aged man, found dead his flat by his sister who’d come up from London to check on him after two weeks of no contact. His cats had started to get antsy and took a chunk out of his corpse. The crime scene reminded Betty of Saw._

_She sees herself in the dead man, both lonely and alone. She’d now never make his mistake of getting cats though. Although, she doubts any of her would bother coming to check on her. The thought leaves a sour taste in her mouth._

_She’s on a break from scouring CCTV, rubbing at her tired eyes and rapidly smudging her eyeliner she’d forgotten she’d put on that morning when Jughead clears his throat._ _“Cup of tea, Cooper?” If he notices her smeared make-up, he doesn’t mention it._

 

_“Yes, unless you’re planning to spike it or spit in it, then a firm no.” She replies, eyes closed still._

_Jughead kisses his teeth. “Now if I was going to do that, why would I tell you.”_

_Betty shrugs, hearing the hiss of his chair as he stands. “How do you take it?”_

_“Milk and three sugars.” She states, promptly. He nods but she doesn’t see, the sound of his boots disappearing into the distance soothing to her tired mind._ _He returns with two mugs and the biscuit tin. She sniffs the mug tentatively as though checking for poison, before dunking a ginger biscuit into the hot tea._

_Jughead sips from his own cup. “If you think I wouldn’t use an undetectable poison, then you seriously underestimate me.”_

_Betty glares at him, returning to her work. “So, this guy had no friends. No points of contact. There’s nothing on CCTV, it’s a dead end.”_

_“Maybe, maybe not.” He responds, not looking her way._

_Later when she wakes up from a nap at her desk, she’d not intended taking, Jughead is gone. She’s initially irritated at the thought he’s working the case without her. Until she notices beside her a fresh cup of tea, two ginger biscuits and a packet of baby wipes with a post-it note that reads;_

_‘You look like Gene Simmons._

_Meet me at dead guy’s flat, found something._

_From The Best Detective.’_

_Maybe she’s not so alone._

\---------------------------------------------

They set their first meet for a small but perfectly formed café on the North side of the city. The winter wind is picking up as they move towards the latter days of the month. It whips around her as she pulls open the door, the contrasting warmth of the café sending a comforting shiver down Betty’s neck. The smell of freshly brewed tea and bacon sandwiches in combination with skipping breakfast and the tension induced nausea, causes her mouth to water and stomach to rumble.

 

She’s considering making a move to the counter to order much needed sustenance, when she spots a familiar figure in her peripheral. He’s sat in the back corner facing away from her, hood up. But she’d recognise him anywhere. She ignores any further noise from her stomach, her hand coming up to ensure the wig she’d bought from a charity shop is still firmly in place as she walks to the table. His shoulders twitch, hearing her on the rough tile. She smooths her top, out of habit and takes a seat opposite him, resting her bag against a dried out bottle of tomato sauce.

 

“I got you tea.” Betty looks up, his voice is steady and goes a long way to calming the waves of unrest in her stomach. “Milk and three sugars.” Jughead pushes the cup across the table towards her. His dark hair, although partially hidden by the hood, curls down into his left eye.

 

He brings his own mug to his lips as she speaks, “No poison?”

 

He swallows and answers, “No poison.” setting down his own sugarless tea. The exchange is familiar, yet already feels like a distant memory. Her stomach twists again.

 

Betty takes a sip of tea. He takes the silence to pull his hood down, revealing the rest of his dark hair. She’s suddenly stuck for something to say. They’ve never done the small talk thing, not really. When she’d first started at the station and been assigned to partner with him, it had immediately gone from introductions to merciless sarcastic remarks. She doesn’t want that to change, but she knows it will. This will change both of them.

 

She shakes her head as if to remove the thought from her brain and digs into her bag, coming out with a small battered book. She slides it across the table, jostling Jughead’s cup in the process. He picks it up and she waits, hoping for a sarcastic remark.

 

“I’m hurt that you think I need this.” He taps his fingers against the book entitled _100 Ways to Entice your Special Someone._ The world feels like it’s right for a moment. It’s not the first time she’s wondered if he can read her mind. There’s a nagging in her brain that she’s never seen him with a _special someone_. That she’s never had _someone_ and maybe she knows why.

 

Betty ignores the inner voice, choosing instead to roll her eyes. “The pick-up lines are codes,” she opens the book to demonstrate, “We use them to communicate through the new set of burner phones I brought.” She fishes in her bag again and pushes the new phone towards him. “These are better than what the boss gave us.”

 

He flicks through the pages, making silent note of Betty’s inking under particular phrases, giving them an efficient and inconspicuous way to communicate.

 

“So if anyone sees these, they think I’m just really bad at chatting up women.” He remarks, more to himself than her.

 

Betty nods all the same. “Remain as close to the truth as possible, right?” He remains quiet but gives a small smile. She sees half a laughter line. “My new number is already in there; I’ll text you a week from today. Text me sooner if we’ve got a problem.”

 

He flips the phone open, finding her information. “Beth?”

 

She nods again. “I can’t use my own name, just in case.” She doesn’t need to say why. 

 

“Yeah, but you could have come up with something a little more…” He gestures with his hands demonstrating, a little more _something_.

 

Betty makes a disgruntled noise. “Like _what_?”

 

Jughead shrugs, still smiling. “Like…Lightning or…Wolf.”

 

“Because Frank is so…” She repeats the same gesture with her hands. Her head tilts, remembering. “Wait, weren’t they Gladiators?”

 

“Can’t fault me for trying to spice up your cover story.” He pauses, rubbing his chin as though deep in thought, “Man, that was a great show.”

 

“I think you’re just enjoying imagining me getting pummelled with one of those huge cotton buds they used.”

 

He chuckles, pulling up his sleeve to check the time. “I should probably be going now.”

 

She feels tension leaking into her bones, weighing her down. In that short conversation he’d made her forget where they were, the true purpose of their meeting. Jughead reaches across to squeeze her shoulder, a familiar sensation, as though conveying he feels the same. He gets up from the rickety chair, pulling his hood up once more. She reached up to the dark wig on her head, playing with a strand.

 

Jughead notices, tugging at the synthetic hair. “Your blonde is showing, Beth.” It almost soothes her, as much as it sets her teeth on edge.

 

He’s gone without another word, his smile vanishing and shoulders becoming taut as he leaves. Betty orders a bacon sandwich, with extra bacon.

 

\---------------------------------------------

_From_ Frank:

**I may not be a genie, but I can make your dreams come true.**

Betty wants to smile at the message she receives that night, it’s not one of the phrases she’d underlined or given a double meaning to. It’s a sign he doesn’t want them to change either.

 

 _From_  Beth:

**You don’t need keys to drive me crazy.**

 

She barely sleeps.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

“What about Vogue?” He asks as he drops down next to her on the park bench. Her stomach rolls and his shoulders are encroaching on his neck.

 

She doesn’t reply. “You’re right. Far too Madonna.”   She wants to tell him he’s not fooling her with his calm voice, but doubts it would do either of them any good.

 

A lone dog walker wanders past. They both watch them stroll on leisurely until they’re no longer visible in the winter mist. She tries to resist grinding her teeth, anxiously. She felt too exposed here. Betty leans back into the cold bench, trying to act natural.  “Have you got a thing for powerful women?”

 

He looks to her and beyond. He seems tired but outwardly satisfied by her joining in on the game he’s playing.

 

She wonders if he’s getting as sleep as she is.

 

“There’s crates of weapons that keep appearing, at the warehouse our people already know about.” He says, after a moment of silence.

 

Betty’s interest is piqued; this is something she can deal with. Work. She’s good at work. Great, even.

 

Jughead continues, “They’re putting them onto the streets, via a few carefully chosen associates. They’re also planning something big with them themselves, but they’re reluctant to tell me more.”

 

“Do you think they suspect something?” She feels queasy.

 

He squints, focusing hard on nothing. “No, they just don’t trust me yet. But they said there’s something coming that’ll fix that.”

 

His tone causes saliva to build in her mouth. “Like a ritual.”

 

He exhales abruptly. “I guess.” She wants to press further but the words seem stuck in her throat.

 

Jughead stands to leave, turning to her with a facial expression that she doesn’t recognise. It reminds her of fear. It’s gone as quickly as she spots it, a smirk is the replacement.

 

“By the way, I like this wig better than the last.”

 

She’s left her on the park bench alone, her fingers drawing patterns through the burgundy strands.

 

\---------------------------------------------

_From_  Beth:

**Do you believe in love at first sight or should I pass by again?**

_From_  Frank:

**If nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing?**

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Betty dreams of his dead body. She can’t get to him, watching as he’s dragged to land. He’s swollen and almost unrecognisable, but she knows. She wakes to her skin and bed sheets drenched with sweat. She takes a cold shower and gets to work before the sun comes up.

 

Every time she blinks she relives it.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

_It’s not until their second year of working together that they begin to learn any personal details about each other. They’re more alike than Betty initially thought._

_She’s typing quickly at her keyboard, hoping to finish writing the last paragraph of her report before her soup dings in the microwave. Jughead glances over every now and then. She can tell he’s not working; he hasn’t typed anything for the last twenty minutes._

_When he looks again eyebrows furrowed, she finally gives in. “What do you want, Jones?”_

_He reclines in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “So you’re female.”_

_Betty stops typing. “Do I need to call HR?”_

_He nearly laughs. “Get your mind out the gutter, Cooper. I need to get my sister a birthday present.” She raises her eyebrows for him to continue, “I don’t know…she has a shit tonne of piercings so I thought earrings, simple right? Wrong…Why are there so many fucking earrings out there? I swear it was just last year she was asking for a Furby.”_

_She’s never seen him ramble. Nor has he ever mentioned his family. She feels somewhat wistful. “You have a sister?”_

_“That’s what you took from that?” He’s hesitant before adding, “Yes, I’ve got a sister.” He twists a photo on his desk, she’s never noticed before. A dark haired girl with his eyes, ripped jeans and missing front teeth. “She obviously doesn’t look entirely like that anymore.” He’s smiling sincerely as if recollecting a memory._

_That smile alone convinces her, but she can’t let him know that. “This better not be a ploy to distract me from work so you can jump on it and get the solve.”_

_“Cross my heart.” He gestures across his chest._

_“Do you get along?”_

_The smile is there again. “Most of the time.”_

_“Email me the links for the earrings, I’ll pick some options.” Betty pretends to concede._

_“Thank you.” His hands form a prayer. She poises her hands on the keyboard to continue typing, when he speaks again, “Do you have any?”_

_“Any?” She’s confused momentarily, already thinking back to her report._

_“Siblings.” Jughead clarifies._

_“A sister.” She doesn’t give anything away._

_“See her much?” He asks, conversationally._

_Betty’s neck prickles with sweat._

_The microwave beeps._

_She swirls her chair and stands, relieved for the interruption. “Saved by the bell.”_

_As she makes her way past his desk to the kitchenette, he catches her hand. “Hey, families can be shit, yeah?”_

_“Yeah.” She swallows heavily, pulling her hand away. The sensation of his hand in hers stays for the rest of the day._

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

They have their fifth meeting early on a Sunday morning. It’s a different park than they’d used previously. One with barren trees that have felt the wrath of the English winter, a crumbling statue of Queen Victoria and a surplus of pigeons picking at the frozen grass. Betty’s standing by the ice covered pond. Her face shielded from the cold by her fur trimmed hood, a good enough disguise if anyone was to see them together.

 

Jughead stands on her right. “Don’t you just fucking hate pigeons?” His voice sounds tight. His own hood, protecting his face from onlookers. They’re playing their game again.

 

Betty shrugs, but she doubts he sees. “What did they ever do to you?” She tries to sound relaxed.

 

A jogger passes behind them, their quick feet crunching on the gravel path. Betty’s quick to wrap her fingers around Jughead’s taut shoulder, throwing her head back to laugh exaggeratedly. To anyone on the outside, they’d appear to be friends or even something more, chatting and enjoying themselves. It’s what they’re trained to do but even still it makes her head hurt.

 

She wishes it were that simple.

 

Jughead moves towards her touch, giving her full view of the mottled deep purple bruise spreading from his left eye down the sharp line of his cheekbone.

 

Her fingers press harder into the fabric of his jacket, unconsciously. “Is this the result of the ritual you were talking about?” He nods, reaching across to cover her hand with his own. He clasps briefly, comfortingly before letting it drop.

 

She’s left feeling cold.

 

“I passed, so don’t worry.”

 

“I’m not worried.” She reacts, because it feels normal.

 

His brow wrinkles for a second. “Anyway, after I got the shit kicked out me, I found out the big plan is in fact a bank job,” He pauses, gazing around before continuing, “They’ve got a guy on the inside that’s given them a lot of the security intel. It applies to all branches of one major bank. A big opportunity to get a lot of cash.”

 

Betty shifts on her feet, toes curling in her shoes. “Did you get a name?”

 

He shakes his head. “I’ll be meeting him soon. I’ll have more to tell you after that”

 

Despite it being a clear sign of progress for the case, her stomach sways uneasily.

 

“Don’t fuck it up.”

 

He snorts in reply. “Someone got out the wrong side of bed this morning.”

 

The fur of her hood blows in the wind. “I just don’t want to get a call, telling me that your rotting corpse has been fished out the canal.”

 

The dream she’d had the previous night flashes through her mind. Betty immediately regrets the statement, she opens her mouth wishing she could pluck it from the air and shove it back down her throat.

 

He gives a hint of a smile, like he’s accepting her silent apology. “Well, I trust you to catch the bastard if that is the case.”

 

 “Do you?” He looks confused for a minute, she elaborates. “Trust me, that is?”

 

Although she knows the answer, she needs to her him say it.  

 

His fingers brush hers briefly, before sticking his hands in his pockets. “More than I trust anyone else right now.”

 

 He knows she’d say the same.


	2. Time can over-complicate, but darling I refuse to wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo second chapter! Took longer than I thought, but I'm trying not to get super uptight about my upload schedule because this is for fun right guys?! This chapter does have some sex, got to earn that M rating. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

_From_  Frank:

**I’m lost. Can you give me directions to your heart?**

_From_  Beth:

**Hey, you’re pretty and I’m cute. Together we’d be Pretty Cute.**

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

_It’s the third year of their partnership and they’re chasing a suspect, a teenage male wanted as a person of interest in a murder, through a rundown housing estate. The summer sun is still glinting behind the roofs as Betty pounds the pavement, her shoes rubbing a blister into her little toe. Sweat beads against her hairline, threatening to make tracks down her temple._

 

_Jughead is ahead, she curses his long legs for affording him the advantage._

_The suspect veers suddenly into a cobbled alley between the houses._

_“Keep on him, I’ll cut off the angle.” Betty orders. Jughead gives a thumbs up then takes off down the alley as she follows the street round._ _She’s turning the corner as the shot rings out. It pierces the silent air. The sound of her own ragged breathing is all she can hear above the blood pumping in her ears._

_She stops dead for a beat._

_Before taking off running again, shirt clinging to her now slick back. She’s almost knocked sideways as she enters the alleyway by the suspect, gun still in hand, trying to make an escape. He’s quick, but she’s quicker. She twists his arm to release the weapon and kicks it away as it hits the floor._

_Jughead is in her peripheral, face down against the gravel._

_“Jones?” She puts the suspect to the floor, he lets out sound of protest. “Shut the fuck up. Talk to me, Jones.” Her mouth is dry._

_The radio on her vest buzzes, back-up is two minutes away. “Jones.”_

_Her hand grips the suspect harder. “You better not be hit, because that is so much fucking paperwork.”_

_Her eyes are stinging. It feels like time has slowed down, thirty seconds feels like thirty days._

_Her radio crackles again._

_Jughead groans._ _She feels like she can breathe._

_He rolls onto his back and lets out a strained breath. “The fucker got my vest.”_

_She laughs because she doesn’t know what else to do._

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

They meet at a café north of the city centre, sat on a small high street of mostly derelict buildings except a charity shop, with a hefty bulldog dozing on the step outside. Betty’s wearing the dark wig from their first meeting, the threads now twisting haphazardly in different directions after attempting to wash it in her kitchen sink. She’d even watched a YouTube video on how to pencil in her eyebrows to match the hair, although she was concerned they were now slipping down her face, the central heating already making her top lip sweat. The bell above the door dings and the dog next door barks. Jughead’s shoulders are around his ears, as he squeezes between the compact plastic tables. Something is off.

 

“Smile and laugh at me.” He mutters, pushing his hoodie down. His bruises appear to be healing, now deep green.

 

Her throat feels like sandpaper. She does as he asks, eyes darting to the windows to seek out who’s watching them. He grins back, teeth on full display. Almost painfully so.

 

“I’m going to kiss you on the cheek, ok?” She nods, sucking in a breath as he leans down to do so. His lips brush swiftly across her cheek, leaving her skin hot.

 

He slides into the seat across from her. Betty brings her mug up to her lips, trying to smile. “Who’s here?”

 

He laughs a little, bending his elbow to lean against his left fist to cover his mouth. “A couple of Lieutenants, your 12 ‘o’ clock.” Betty lets her eyes travel to where he’s directed her, finding a dark car with tinted windows parked across the road. The figure of two men is just visible behind the shaded glass, laughably indiscreet.

 

“I noticed them a few days ago, you think they’d be subtler.”

 

She laughs, it gets caught in her throat. “Why are they following you?”

 

He pretends to cough into his hand. “We have to give our phones up when we go into meetings, so the main fuckwit knows no one is recording what he’s saying. One of the dickheads out there got hold of mine and found our messages.”

 

“Did they have a reason to think they should go looking through your phone?” Betty asks, still talking from behind the cracked porcelain.

 

He leans forward as though they’re speaking in sweet nothings. “I’ve not given them one.”

 

Betty places her cup back on the table, replicating his actions until their noses are inches apart. “So, why?”

 

He gives a hint of a shy smile, as though she complimented him. “I think he’s pissed that the boss is starting to favour me for jobs, over him.”

 

“You can’t be attracting all this attention.”

 

“I can’t get information if I’m not in the inner circle.” He replies, curt.

 

She knows he’s right. “So what did you tell him?”

 

He strokes her uneven wig, lovingly. “That I’m talking to a woman…that we do this jokey thing of cheesy pick-up lines. I didn’t ignore your plan.”

 

She leans into his hand. “He bought it?”

 

He doesn’t answer her question, “They’re going to know your face now.”

 

“It’s the job.” She murmurs, as one of the café staff walk by their table.

 

“Is this really what you signed up for when you joined the force?” He whispers back, hand still fiddling with the end of her wig.

 

She wants to say no, this absolutely isn’t what she signed up for. That her stomach hasn’t unknotted itself since their first meeting. That she doesn’t sleep at night and she knows he doesn’t either. But she doesn’t say any of it because she was right, it is the job. It’s too high a price for him to be found out. A price she isn’t willing to pay. So she swallows hard until her tongue is dry and heavy, then laughs. High pitched and false, hurting even her own ears.

 

Jughead reaches out to grab her hand, entangling their fingers like two people in love. They stay like that for another hour, making small talk where they say nothing of any meaning. It’s all strained smiles and false laughs that make her feel sick. She hopes it’s a convincing show.

 

As they leave, Betty reaches on her tip toes to kiss his rough unshaven cheek. Then whispers, “Don’t scrimp on the juicy details when they ask you about me later.” He jerks his head in affirmation, large hand pressing into the small of her back as if to say _see you later_.

 

Never goodbye.

 

The sound of a car door opening and closing, as she exits the café suggests she’s got a tail. Betty makes her way down the high street at a comfortable pace and takes the tram into the centre of the city, giving her the opportunity to slip amongst the lunchtime crowd. A quick glance over her shoulder, disguised by a shuffle of her bag, tells her the tail is about four people behind her. She takes a hard right down an alley and onto the next heavily populated street, stopping to peer into the window of a jewellery shop for good measure. There she jumps onto the nearest bus, taking her in the direction of the University. As her bus pulls away, she watches her shadow checking the bus schedule, likely to follow in her direction soon.

 

Betty gets off at the first stop and disappears into the nearest University building. The public toilet allows her the opportunity to update her boss, he tells her keep clear of the station and her home until it gets dark. So that’s what she does.

 

Betty pulls her wig off and her hood up, crosses the road and into the park next to the library. There’s no sign of her shadow. There’s enough students meandering between lectures to disappear between them and spend a few hours observing the crowd. All the while ensuring no one is watching her. As the sun sets behind the sparse trees, she exits on the other side of the park and takes a tram to the other side of the city, in the direction of her flat. City workers chatter as the tall architecture reflects against the windows, bringing them in and out of the moonlight.

 

Betty sits back in her seat and closes her eyes, in an attempt to stop her head spinning.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

 _From_  Beth:

**They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth. Well apparently, no one has ever been standing next to you.**

_From_  Frank:

**Do you believe in love at first sight or should I pass by again?**

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Betty opens the door to her flat, not quick enough to catch it before it bangs on the wall behind. She shuts it as quietly as she can to avoid a visit from her neighbour. She pulls off her clothes as she makes her way to the bathroom, switching on the TV loud as she goes. She showers with the door open, her head hanging low under the punishingly hot water, the sound of an evening game show coming from the front room.

 

After, she smudges the condensation covered mirror with pad of her finger and writes;

 

_Keep him alive._

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

 _It’s some kind of trance, like the rest of the world isn’t there anymore. It’s all just a blur. The dim light from the pub window, highlights the contours of his face perfectly. The soft hum of the music that a moment ago had been too loud, is now soothing._ _All she can think about is what his mouth tastes like._ _She imagines minty, like the chewing gum he keeps in his left pockets. A hint of warmth from the tea he drinks daily and tonight, probably a hint of alcoholic bitterness._

_She’s not really sure how they got there. She knew they were at the pub to celebrate a colleague’s birthday. She remembers after two or three drinks, she was suddenly too hot and had disappeared outside for a breather._ _He’d followed, both seemingly having had the same thought. A pub goer had pushed into her accidentally as they moved to light a cigarette. She’d stumbled into Jughead, who caught her comfortably._

_He’d steadied her, but his arms remained. Then she looked up and it’s all she could think about. Him. The alcohol had warmed the back of her tongue, but she’d not enough to inhibit her rational._

_He hadn’t either._

_They both want it._

_His lips part, nearly close enough for her to catch them with her own._

_Someone taps him on the back. The moment is gone as quickly as it arrives. Like it never existed at all._

_“Round’s on you Jones.”_

_They both blink rapidly, as if waking up. “Right.” Jughead swallows roughly, then smiles. “No doubles and no bottles, I’m not made of money.”_

 

_She feels goosebumps trickle up her skin. “I’ll have a vodka and coke.”_

_He turns his head, there’s something in his eyes. “Next is on you, Betty.”_

_He never calls her by her first name, it’s confirmation it was real for him too._

_It’s their first almost._ _They tell themselves it’s the alcohol. Or pent up tension from constantly being joined at the hip. It’s not either._

_They don’t talk about it._

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

She pins the dark wig into a plait this time, flicking a strand out her eye line as she leans back against a brick wall between two tattoo shops. The hum of the music from inside sets her teeth on edge. Chewing gum from the pavement sticks to her shoe.

 

Jughead appears next to her, he pulls his hood down. “One of the flying monkeys has followed me.” She expected as much. It’d be unusual for them to return to normal programming after seeing her once. They needed to do more research on her. She turns, taking note of his now buzz cut hair.

 

He doesn’t look like him anymore.

 

He follows her eyes, “They did this to me in my sleep.”

 

“You let them?” She’s tries to sound casual.

 

“Seeing as it’d only take a slip of the hand for them to slice and dice me, I thought it was best for them to get on with it.” She can’t fault his logic.

 

He runs his right hand through the short dark spikes. “Isn’t it weird how most people go their whole life without finding out their true head shape.”

 

“You sound like a QVC advert for gang hazing.”

 

“Do you think I should change career?” His voice sounds steady, but he looks pensive.

 

She wants to smile. “You’ve not sold me on it, unfortunately.”

 

He exhales, exaggeratedly. “Your head shape is probably weird anyway.”

 

She tilts her head, ready to throw a retort at him when she notices a familiar face coming towards them. She’d be able to pick out a gang member anywhere. “They’re coming.”

 

Jughead looks over her shoulder. “Fuck.”

 

“Kiss me.” It comes out quick and clipped, which could be easily misconstrued as an act of passion to anyone in earshot. It’s an irrational request with rational thought. They needed show their relationship was genuine and the previous cheek kiss clearly hadn’t made any inroad. Before she can think about it any further, she’s cupping his unshaven jaw between both hands, to pull his lips down to hers. His lips slide against hers in the way that she’s been waiting for since their first almost. It makes her want to cry. But it’s not Betty kissing Jughead, it’s Beth kissing Frank.

 

They’re still playing the game.

 

Jughead pulls away first, panting. He’s got the look in his eyes that she’s remembers from before, almost like awe. Their noses remain touching as the flying monkey walks on by, whistling.

 

His fingers find hers. “I’m sorry.” She can feel his breath against her lip. Her stomach curls.

 

She nods as if to say she is too. “Don’t be a stranger.”

 

He looks like he wants to kiss her again. She almost wants to let him. They don’t.

 

He tastes just like she thought he would.

 

\---------------------------------------------

_From_  Frank:

**Sometimes wrong helps us find the right.**

It’s not a pick-up line from the book. It makes her choke on air, as she backs into the chest of drawers, she’d been sifting through for clean socks, and shrinks to the floor. She does cry this time, gut wrenching sobs that makes her eyes sting and stomach hurt. Her hands stutter over the screen as she types a reply.

 

 _From_  Beth:

**Nothing that’s worthwhile is every easy.**

His reply comes not thirty seconds later, asking to set a meet.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

It’s dark by the time she gets to the city centre. People travelling at a slower pace than during the day, towards dinner reservations, dates or parties that are sure to last late into the night. She pulls her scarf tighter round her neck, peering over her shoulder just in case. Then dips into the disused railway building and takes the stairs two at a time to the newly renovated cinema hidden within the old brick walls.

 

She purchases a ticket from the kiosk and takes the escalator up to the second floor, a collection of arcade games whir as she passes. He’s already queuing for popcorn, when she hands her ticket over to be checked.  She nods her thanks to the worker passing back her ticket and makes her way over.

 

“Alone?” He nods, certain. She pulls off her wool bobble hat, revealing her natural blonde hair.

 

“Cinema prices are extortionate, you know. Probably have to sell a kidney just for a bag of Revels.” She hopes he won’t question the red rim around her eyes.

 

He’s silent for a moment, just watching her. He looks to her hair, then smiles sadly at his shoes. “You love Revels.” It makes her want to cry all over again.

 

“Except the coffee ones, but you like those.” He breathes slowly out his mouth, like he’s deflating.

 

They move forward one in the queue, Jughead reaches into his back pocket for money.

 

“Perfect team.” He replies, handing over the cash. Betty’s stomach somersaults.

 

She changes the subject. “So they trust you now?”

 

“Enough to let me see you for a few hours.” It doesn’t do much to calm her.

 

Jughead passes her the bag of chocolate, leading them towards the correct screen. They stand in the cove between the double doors, out of sight.

 

Betty leans into the wall, Jughead stretching over her. It’s reminiscent of their first almost. Her neck starts to sweat. “Which means I have the chance to tell you what I found out from that guy.”

 

His hand comes up beside her head as another couple pass by them and into the screen. “Yeah?”

 

“The guy providing intel is in a lot of debt with a friend of the main fucker. He’s told them how to bypass security, money fluctuation, who works when, including shift changes. Anything you think they’d need to pull this off, they’ve got.”

 

“They’ve prepared everything?”

 

“Close.” She nods, their window evidently tightening to move on the gang. “What banks to hit in what order is yet to be decided, I’ll know soon.”

 

Betty nods again, making mental notes to put a plan into action. “You need all those plans in a safe place when this goes down or we can’t prove shit.”

 

His hand leaves the wall and finds her shoulder, squeezing gently. “It’ll be done.”

 

There’s a silence, punctured only by the sound of their breathing.

 

He can’t withstand it any longer, “We kissed.” He sounds unsure. Not that it happened, that she wants to acknowledge it. She feels ready to combust if she doesn’t get it out in the open, accept what she’s tried to ignore for so long.

 

“I wanted to.” It’s pulled from her throat by the uncertainty of his gaze.

 

He swallows hard. “Me too.”

 

She reaches up then, stroking his cheek softly. “I want this, but on our terms.”

 

Jughead nods once, leaning into her hand. He places a quick kiss against her palm. “No game, just us.”

 

It feels like she can breathe for the first time. “But we can’t let it get in the way of the plan.”

 

“We’re the best Detectives of all time, don’t doubt us now.” She laughs, her real laugh. Jughead smiles brightly and she can see his laughter lines. “If I go back now, they’ll be sceptical. We may as well see the film.”

 

She takes her hand off his face, linking her fingers through his. “As long as you only eat the coffee Revels.”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

_Jughead’s mobile rings on his desk, vibrating harshly against the surface. He picks it up, holding it between his shoulder and ear as he continues to make amendments to the document in front of him._

_“DS Jones.” There’s a buzz of someone speaking on this other end. Jughead switches the phone to his other ear, dropping the pen._

_“Yes, Forsythe Jones.” The person begins speaking again, causing Jughead’s eyebrows to pinch tight. There’s mumbling of him acknowledging what the other person is saying before, “Ok, I’ll make the arrangements.”_ _He ends the call, chucking the phone to his desk. He scrapes a hand through his hair, messing with the strands._

_Betty looks to him, eyebrow raised in question. She knows phone calls like that. She’s made enough herself, received just one._

_He shakes his head in reply. “Personal stuff.” He stands to leave the room. “If the boss asks for me, tell him I’m chasing a lead.”_

_With that he’s gone, feet quick on the stairs._ _It doesn’t sit right with her to leave him alone, so she follows him._

_He’s stood outside the station, hands stuffed in the pocket of his trousers._ _The wind is bitter, making its way up Betty’s loose sleeves. “Who was it?”_

_He doesn’t look at her. “My dad.”_

_She crosses her arms over chest, to prevent more cold air reaching her skin. “I’m sorry.”_

_“We weren’t close.”_

_Betty shrugs. “It’s alright for it to still affect you, Jug. To feel grief.”_

_“I didn’t know him anymore. Not for years.” He sounds defeated._

_She knows that feeling. “My sister left home when I was young. I didn’t see her for years and years, then I get a call to tell me she’s dead. “She’s never told anyone, always thinking it was better to keep it close to her chest. “I didn’t know her. It’s like she was just a dream I had once, that she never actually existed. But I still felt like someone had punched me between the eyes.” She knows Jughead needs something like this, to know it’s ok however he feels._

_“Does it still hurt?” He’s looking at her now._

_Betty nods. “Grief never goes away. That’s the only thing I do know. It doesn’t get smaller; your life just gets bigger.”_

_Jughead pulls his hands out his pockets, rubbing them together. “Thanks for telling me, about your sister.”_

_She unfolds her arms. “Polly.”  He looks confused, she elaborates. “That was her name.”_

_He nods, committing it to memory. “Polly.” It feels right for her name to come from his lips._

_Without saying anything else, Betty grabs his shoulder to pull him into a hug, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He responds immediately his arms locking around her back, his chin finding the top of her head. It’s warmth and home. They both need it._

_She helps him make the necessary arrangements. They hug a lot more after that._

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

It’s early in the morning, her head is thumping and her left eye is twitching from exhaustion but she can’t sleep. Instead resigning herself to watching reruns of Friends, simultaneously writing notes to add to the case file for her boss and planning out her next met with Jughead having not seen him for a couple of days, as per their schedule.

 

An uneven knock comes at her door, rattling the hinges with its force. It startles Betty, causing her to jump from her sofa. She drops her pen onto the coffee table and runs silently into her kitchen, coming out with her sharpest knife.

 

The knocking comes again, harder. She finds herself wishing her door had a peep hole.

 

She tucks the knife by her side, fingers flexing as she handles the door knob. She takes a breath and pulls the door open, the chain offering some protection. It casts a sliver of light into her flat, giving her full few of the person in front.

 

She exhales through her nose, in relief.

 

She closes the door quickly again to take the chain off, before pulling it open and dragging him inside. She slams it shut behind her, locking it.  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

“Do you greet all your guests that pleasantly?” He’s trying to be funny but looks at the floor as he says it. The action reads like he’s hiding something. So with her free hand Betty reaches up ragging his hood back to reveal his face.

 

Her hand grips the knife harder. His left eye is swollen shut, a cut drags across the skin of his bottom lip which is still bleeding onto his chin. There’s another slice across his right cheek, accompanied by swelling, the skin turning an interesting shade of puce. As she looks further down there’s clear and distinct finger shaped bruises into his neck, as though he’d being dragged to the floor and held.

 

She feels sick. “You look like minced meat.”

 

“The guy had quite the collection of rings.” He tries to smile, fresh blood leaks onto his chin and onto her floor. She’s glad she didn’t go for carpet when she decorated.

“If someone followed you, they’ll know where I live.”

 

“Don’t you think I thought about that.” She takes that as confirmation they’re alone. He reaches for her hand, his knuckles are raw and cracked. He finds the cold metal of the blade; she’s still gripping like a vice. “Do you also greet all your guests with a knife?”

 

She shakes her head in reply, moving to the kitchen to put it back. He follows carefully. Betty turns to face him, leaning against her utensil drawer. The handle digs uncomfortably into her lower back. “What happened?”

 

“Another gang trying to muscle in on our turf. I was told to sort it.” His use of _our_ is like nails on a chalkboard.

 

She feels like screaming. Instead, she looks down and then back up at his mutilated face. “Take your shoes off, I mopped yesterday.” She points towards the hall. “I’ll get the first aid kit; my bathroom is through there.”

 

He’s sat on her toilet when she returns with the kit, looking oversized in her miniature bathroom. His eyes stay closed as she wipes at his cuts to stem the flow of blood and clean any debris.

 

She swipes the antiseptic across his nose, noticing something, “You have freckles.” His nose scrunches joining them together, as he opens one eye.

 

He looks over her face and then closes his eye again, “So do you.”

 

She has to smile, until she remembers, “You said _our_ turf.”

 

Both eyes open this time. “I guess I was still in _Frank mode_. I don’t see it that way, I just have to make it seem like I do.”

 

“I don’t want to lose _you_.” She can feel tears coming to the surface. He knows what she means in every possible sense of the word, in every way that he is him.

 

“You won’t and I won’t lose you either, ok?” He sounds sure.

 

A tear trickles down her cheek. “Betty, hey.” He hands cup her cheeks, swiping it away with his thumb then bringing her face down to kiss her hard on the mouth. She can feel the slip of blood against her own lips but she doesn’t care. “You taste how I imagined you would.”

 

She’s swaying slightly, the antiseptic wipe now scrunched between her fingers. “You thought about it?” He nods, watching her lips.

 

 “Me too.” She licks at her mouth. The material tears between her fingers, as he drags his thumbs across her cheekbones again. She presses her lips against his, more softly.

 

“I feel like I’m going crazy.”

 

He smiles, hands dropping to his knees. “Me too.”

 

She throws the shredded material into the sink. “Psych are going to have a field day with us.”

 

Jughead stands, turning to survey his face in the mirror. “Overtime pay is going to be sweet though.”

 

“You should be with them, gathering intel.” She says, despite curling her arms around him from behind. Her head resting comfortably between his shoulder blades.

 

His fingers brush against her forearm. “They’re all drunk or passed out.”

 

“Boss would ring our necks.” Her voice is muffled by his shirt.

 

He twists in her arms, grimacing. “Please don’t mention him right now.”

 

She laughs in the back of her throat, her hands crawling up to grasp at his dirt covered shirt. “You should probably take this off, it’s pretty dirty.” Her face is mock serious, her intention already clear. They both need this, to know they still have a grip on each other. That they won't lose it.

 

He visibly swallows, his neck bobbing as he nods heavily, ducking down to kiss her again. Their parted lips meeting, breathing into each other teasingly before he pulls away and rips his shirt over his head. It crackles with static. She feels her body tense with desire as her hands drag up the bare skin, mesmerised.

 

He’s watching her when she looks up again, fingers coming to grip her waist. She pushes up on her toes as he leans down, their noses press together as his hands grasp at her cheeks, tilting her head. Her hands remain pressed into his hot skin, as she opens her mouth against his, causing a groan to rumble through his chest. Her fingers move to link round his neck as his find her hair, bringing them closer together, a breathy moan comes from the back of her throat as his tongue touches her bottom lip. He responds with a shiver, exhaling sharply through his nose as she pulls back, the feeling of their kiss overwhelming her senses.

 

Their foreheads remain touching, the sound of their breathing filling the air. “Fuck, I love you.”

 

She laughs so she doesn’t cry. “I love you.” It feels like they’ve been saying it for years.

 

They kiss again, more urgently this time as if stimulated by what they’ve just acknowledged. His hands leave her hair to slip under the loose shirt she wore to bed, the sensation sending a shiver of pleasure up her spine as he finds the bottom of where her bra would be but isn’t, his thumbs spread across her ribcage and pause. She lets out a noise of affirmation for him to move higher. She breathes harder out her nose as his thumbs drag across her nipples, leaving them hard. Suddenly feeling constricted by her shirt, she pulls back to tug it over her head. He’s looking at her with some kind of awe again. She’s sure she’s looking at him in the same way. Her whole body shudders with need.

 

Before she can think further, he’s lifting her, his hands curling around the back of her thighs, twisting round to drop her onto the bathroom counter. Her back sticks to the cold mirror behind. His lips find her jawline, dragging open mouthed kisses down her neck and lower until they close around her nipple sucking in a way that causes goose bumps to erupt over her skin.

 

Her back arches, desperate to get closer to him. “Fuck…”  His teeth drag across it, as he moves to repeat the action on the other side. She reaches forward, needing to touch him and grasps his erection through his trousers, enticing a low groan from him in return.

 

He breaks away, breathing hotly against her skin. “God, you’re incredible.”  

 

She smiles slightly, widening her legs to bring him closer, his erection pressing to her centre as his lips find hers again. The feeling of skin to skin producing synchronised moans of pleasure. She bites down lightly on his lower lip, finding the button of his trousers to undo, leaving her enough room to slip her hand in to hold him.

 

He inhales sharply, ending their kiss. “Not fair.”

 

He’s smiling, love-struck. She can’t help but smile back. “Can’t wait much longer,” She whispers, her hands now gripping at his shoulders.

 

He nods in a way that says he can’t either, fingers finding the waist of her trousers. She lifts her bum to let him pull them off, her underwear quickly following. Her hands grip the edge of the counter as his fingers find her thighs, spreading her legs, the view causing him to let out a deep groan once more.  

 

He opens his mouth to speak, she interrupts quickly, “Don’t need to ask.” A rush of love makes her stomach flip. He nods, swallowing hard as she feels one of his fingers slide inside her, the sensation giving some relief to the overwhelming ache. Her fingers curl tighter, knuckles white from the pressure, as his thumb finds exactly where she needs him.

 

She lets out a shaky moan. “Oh god, Jug.” Her eyes slipping shut, as she’s hurtling towards the _all-consuming feeling_. His mouth finds her nipple again, pulling it between his teeth until she screams, her body twitching as it overwhelms her, her legs clamping together to keep his hand in place. Her chest is slick with sweat, her eyes opening slowly to find the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

 

His hand drops from between her legs, as he surges forward to kiss her. “Fuck…that was…”

 

She tingles all over, reaching forward to pull at his trousers. She whispers against his lips, “ _Want_ you.”

 

He nods, jerkily, stepping away to remove his remaining clothes. Her skin feels hot at the sight of him. He moves back towards her, cursing unintelligibly as she grips him in her hand again, the head brushing against her wet centre. She feels dizzy. Neither of them wanting to wait any longer, her arms come up to loop around his shoulder, arching her back as he pushes forward burying himself inside of her with one thrust.

 

Their foreheads meeting as they breathe moans into one another’s mouth between hot, messy kisses. His hand finds her back, gripping enough to leave a mark as he begins to move in and out of her, pace quickening with each stroke. He presses his mouth against her ear, sucking softly as her fingernails dig into his skin. Her back arches further, rocking her hips in time with his seeking the right angle for her oversensitive nerves.

 

She breathes hotly against his neck, peppering kisses as his hips begin to stutter letting her know he’s close.

 

He groans, “ _Betty_ ,” hands squeezing at her hips as he comes, heat spreading through her.

 

He doesn’t pause for long. Sensing she’s close again he ducks down to lick a strip along her collarbone, manipulating her movements with his hand still on her hip, his other hand moving between their bodies to do the rest. Her eyes shutting again as the sensation washes over her, leaving her weak.

 

She falls into him; he catches her protectively despite his legs being as weak as her own. Her eyes catch his as she cuddles further into his chest.

 

He smiles cheekily, “Fuck, why didn’t we do that earlier?” She laughs until her sides hurt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story please feel free to leave kudos or comments, or both! I will love you eternally.
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr - aisforr.tumblr.com
> 
> P.S. I don't know if Revels is a UK thing but maybe google it if you don't know what they are. They taste pretty good, except coffee.


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